


God, I Love This Person

by ghostpeaches



Category: D. Gray-man
Genre: M/M, Melancholy, My attempt at poetic writing, end of the world sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostpeaches/pseuds/ghostpeaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were alone, with only the smell of rot and decay and the haze of the rising sun filtering through the cracked glass, splattered with blood and yellow-greyed with age and dust from Akuma. Kanda is seated; head bowed and fists topping his katana, a cane, a crutch. Hair spills over his neck, his shoulders, India ink from an upset ink well, leaking over the side of a desk. Eyes, more blue than black, flick up, glittering through dark, thick lashes, a fringe of hair.<br/>“I thought you were dead.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	God, I Love This Person

“You’re...” he whispered, silver eyes wide and round like the full moon in autumn, “You’re here.”  
They were alone, with only the smell of rot and decay and the haze of the rising sun filtering through the cracked glass, splattered with blood and yellow-greyed with age and dust from Akuma. Kanda is seated; head bowed and fists topping his katana, a cane, a crutch. Hair spills over his neck, his shoulders, India ink from an upset ink well, leaking over the side of a desk. Eyes, more blue than black, flick up, glittering through dark, thick lashes, a fringe of hair.  
“The fuck, Walker?” Eloquence has never been Kanda’s strong suit, to be frank, but Allen hoped for more than usual. Allen knows that he spoke the simple phrase so dramatically, so lovingly, but he could hardly care less, because his hands are shaking at his sides and he can’t bear to raise his head because he knows the shine in his eyes will give him away and he can’t let that happen, not yet.  
“Y-you’re...” Allen’s voice cracks and he bites his lip, hard, picturing his teeth sinking through the delicate flesh, leaving permanent teeth marks. He wonders for a second why he thinks of this so morbidly, so vividly, but the mission comes rushing back and he bites harder, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. “I thought you were dead.” The statement hangs in the dim cabin, heavy and cloying, and Kanda turns his head away, hair whispering against the sides of his face.  
“Well I’m not.” Comes the reply, almost a full minute later, followed by a quiet, forced scoff. “I’m still alive, and you’re still a fucking idiot.” Allen smiles silently, the beaded tears falling, and walks over to Kanda. He expects to be pushed away, but Kanda only breathes out through his nose, sets his katana beside him, and allows Allen to worm into his arms, eyes and cheeks wet against the fabric of Kanda’s torn uniform. Arms wrap around the thin shoulders, and one hand comes up to wipe the tears, gently, smearing them against the skin so more can replace them. Kanda buries his nose in the fluffy white locks at the crown of Allen’s head, inhaling the smell of blood and sweat and dirt and pine.   
“You don’t get it. You act so stuck up but I know you have a heart somewhere in there.” Allen’s hand clenched into a tight fist, fingernails digging crescents into his palm and hammered it hard against Kanda’s chest. Kanda’s eyelids, which had lowered in peace as he held the warm, slim body against his own, flew open wide as the fist hit his chest. By some luck or coincidence, the fist is connected to his right arm and not his left, the latter of which would’ve most likely ended severely. Allen doesn’t seem to think that through, and continues beating the fist against Kanda’s chest. Oddly, the beat of Kanda’s heart begins to match up with the fist striking his sternum and he can hear it, it and the soft hum of his blood rushing through his veins. He’s alive, _he’s alive_ , and whether that notion is radical to him or not, it’s important to Allen, and he feels a little guilty for being such an asshole about it. So he buries his nose back into the silver hair and lets to boy beat his fist irregularly against him, whether in anger or delirium or something else, Kanda doesn’t know and doesn’t care. The fist stops, dropping, fingers molding against Kanda’s hip. The gesture would normally feel sensual, but the quiet dusky morning and the tears still smeared across Allen’s face make the mood different, so that the lead in Kanda’s stomach feels too heavy for him to really feel anything else. Except love, _god, he loves this person_ , to the point that it hurts, it burns through him. It’s no longer, he realizes, a matter of whether he’s willing to admit it or not. It’s a fact, and Kanda’s always been one for facts.  
He wishes he had fallen in love with someone stable, someone emotionless and quiet like himself, not this ball of white lightning that breathes and cries and yells and clings to him, that moans and screams and lives violently and passionately and _god, so beautifully_.  
“If it helps,” Kanda murmurs into his hair, “I thought you were dead too.” The head snaps up, bumping hard against Kanda’s nose.  
“Why the hell would that help?”  
“I don’t know, it seemed liked it might make you feel better.” Kanda muttered acerbically, rubbing his nose.  
“That just makes it worse!” Allen’s voice cracks again and he buries his face back into Kanda’s collarbone. He breathes raggedly, brokenly, eyes fluttering against the thick black fabric. “I love you, Kanda. No matter what, I love you so _damn_ much, and I don’t ever want to be apart.” Kanda sighed, the locks fanning out beneath his breath, and Allen glanced up at him with a frown. “What?”  
“Nothing.” Kanda murmured before sweeping down and gently pressing his lips to Allen’s. The lips, normally warm and wet but bland in taste, were salty with tears and perhaps a trace of blood. They moved eagerly, desperately against his, mixing with a scrape of blunt teeth, a smooth tongue licking into his mouth. There was no hurry in the action, like there usually would be. Between them, it’s always hurry and anger and lust, but this time around it’s slow and desperate, like the world is crumbling around them at a crawling pace, like they’re back on Noah’s ark and they’re fading away with it. Allen’s gloved fingers fumble with the buttons on Kanda’s coat, clumsy with desperation but still slow, careful, devoted. Kanda shrugs it off once it’s unbuttoned, their lips never breaking. The pile of clothes on the back of the chair and pooled around it grows, and even though it’s dusty and dirty and completely unsanitary, Allen is sprawled on the floor, gripping at Kanda’s hair and shoulders and Kanda is shifting his weight on top of him, sliding fingers into Allen’s mouth before sliding them elsewhere, gentle, slow, even though they’ve done this a hundred times before, much faster and much rougher. Allen is murmuring something almost too quiet for Kanda to hear, especially with how breathy it sounds, but he listens close, fingers stilled.  
“I love you,” Allen whispers, clinging to Kanda in blind desperation. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Kanda smiles, twisting his fingers slowly before pulling them out. Allen deflates slightly at the sudden emptiness, but it doesn’t last long, because Kanda is slowly pushing in, inch by inch, pressing kisses to Allen’s chin and jaw and neck and ears and kissing the tears from Allen’s cheeks as he pushes all in. Allen’s eyes are closed, screwed shut, but it’s not in pain, Kanda knows. This isn’t their first time, this isn’t a new feeling for the younger boy. Allen kisses him as well, soft lips feathering over his hairline and temples and the tips of his ears. “I love you, Kanda. _God, I love you so much_.” The pace is slow; Kanda rocks his hips forward with leisure, like they have all the time in the world. Allen arches his back against the dirty floor and dust blooms up around him, glittering in the sunlight slanting over the wooden boards, over their sweat-slicked bodies and their pools of discarded clothing.   
Kanda’s fingers find their place in the grooves that Allen’s ribs make in his fair skin, in the sharp curve of his hipbones, the sprawl of his white hair. Allen’s fingers always tangle in the same place, weaving through the black strands like they’re a lifeline and he’s a man drowning, gasping for air. His fingernails dig into Kanda’s scalp, and he feels terrible, because though he keeps the nails of his right hand well groomed, he has no control over the ones on his left, and they’re razor-sharp.   
“Kanda,” Allen breathes brokenly as the long, calloused fingers curl around his hips. Kanda says something too quiet for Allen to hear, and Allen gazes into his face, eyes lowered in desire, and pulls Kanda down to his lips, pressing them together. Kanda breaks away and leans his forehead against Allen’s, just to watch his eyes roll back as Kanda hits that spot. “ _Kanda..._ ” he breathes again, rolling his hips, a small keening sound slipping from his throat. Kanda presses his lips to the adam’s apple prominent in the center of Allen’s pale, smooth neck, feeling each breath and swallow coursing through the younger’s throat. He slides his tongue languidly down Allen’s neck, along each sharp collarbone before inching back up his neck and sucking there, letting blood vessels blossom like winter cherries blooming in the snow. Allen mewls, pressing his face into the curve of Kanda’s neck, where it’s curtained by silky black hair. The hair curls around his ears, and he hisses out a long, sharp breath against Kanda’s skin as the older scrapes the nails of his thumbs over his hipbones.  
A gasp, and the grey eyes roll back again. Allen curls himself into Kanda’s arms as he loses himself; head thrown back, screaming, crying. His back arches against the floor with a soft scraping noise, and Kanda reaches his limit as well, kissing and nipping at Allen’s collarbones as his hips roll and his throat constricts the pleasured scream tearing at it.   
“ _I love you, Kanda_.” Allen whispers into his hair, breathing in and out in small, irregular puffs. His pale eyelashes flutter against the black strands and Kanda kisses the tip of his ear, smiling fondly as his fingers card through the snowy locks.  
“Shut up, you idiot.” The whispered response is brimming with shared sentiment, his tone speaking volumes that his voice cannot.   
His words have always been brittle and harsh and sharp, needling and cold like winter wind, but his tone says otherwise. Allen never noticed it before, too caught up in the words, the yells, the fists and bloody noses, but he sees it now. Blurred around the edges to hide the jags, like everything about Kanda, but deep inside, it was a desperate cry, warm and raw and full of unspoken emotion, a desperate, silent scream of _I love this person, even when they’re stupid and I’m stupid and the world is cruel and dangerous. I hate the world, and above all, I hate myself, but god, my god, this person is breathtaking and I can’t hate them, I could never hate them because_  
God,  
I love you  
So fucking much.


End file.
